It's 19 years ago today that my Dad, Phillip, passed away.
My Dad was a genuinely good man. Very much from the old school. Someone who came from humble beginnings (much more humble than what we think of as "hardship" these days), had to leave school at an early age, and had to make his own way in the world.
He was, to a great extent, auto-didactic. He read about anything and everything and had a broad general knowledge. I was such a flaky kid in high school and it always amazed me how much Dad knew.
My Dad was best known for his exploits as a pilot. The Yanks gave him the Purple Heart during the Korean War for getting shot up while trying to find one of their downed pilots (even though he didn't like Yanks much!). He also worked with the airlines, as a flying instructor, charter pilot, flying the air ambulance... you name it.
By the end of his career (I'd have to check with my brother who is also a pilot) I believe Dad had clocked up about 23,000 hours and taught a big chunk of the next generation of Aussie pilots how to fly. That's how he made his name. Quietly and by giving.
As impressive as his career was, it's how he comported himself as a person, as a man, that still impresses me, even after the passing of these 19 years.
I remember that he was very honest, very loyal and a true gentleman. He held doors open, tipped his hat and stuck to his guns. There are too few men like that these days. We are far too occupied with things. Or with our egos and exploits. Wheelings and dealings. Nervous about speaking up and showing some backbone.
Many of us need a good dose of "old fashioned." And not in that ridiculous, Tom Brokaw "Greatest Generation" way. My Dad typified that generation and Brokaw's appellation for them would have been embarrassing to him -- to the extent he even paid any attention to it.
Dad hated fanfare. And he despised Hollywood war movies. (Seeing your mates mowed down without a soundtrack and an audience can have that effect on you.) I can still hear him saying: "Bloody Yanks, winning the war again."
My Dad was very fit and didn't drink or smoke except for the occasional small glass of something or a puff on a "treat" cigar or pipe.
But it 1991 he died of cancer -- a diagnosis which came as a shock to everyone who knew him. And they couldn't even tell us what kind of cancer. "It's everywhere." I just recall those words.
In remembering Dad I want to honor him by not letting the facts of his decline go unstated.
Before Dad was in the Air Force in Korea, he was a soldier in WWII in New Guinea fighting to keep the Japanese at bay. He was 18, 19. After the surrender, he was sent to Japan as a member of the occupational forces. He was posted in Hiroshima.
The best guess has always been that his exposure to radiation in Hiroshima is what eventually took his life. Those terrible damn bombs that were dropped EVEN THOUGH THE JAPANESE HAD MADE IT CLEAR THEY WANTED TO PACK IT IN ruined so many lives. Nuclear weapons are a curse to us all and we must rid our world of every last one of them.
The second point I make in honor of my Dad is this: In an age where we can split atoms, create technology for play and warfare that one can barely wrap one's mind around, perform miracles in space and surgery, nobody can convince me that we could not solve the cancer riddle! It's like the comedian Chris Rock said: There's no money in the cure, the big cash is in the treatments.
These are the big battles -- peace before war, nukes, health care -- that we all must fight. Because, as big as they are, they all boil down to individuals with families and stories. One day -- if not already -- one or more of them might boil down to you and yours.
Your efforts to right these wrongs will never require as much of you as was asked of my Dad -- and so many like him. Shame on us for every day we take the debts they paid, for us, for granted. And that includes the people who have fought battles within our borders -- and continue to fight them -- for the rights we enjoy.
Dad would also want me to tell you that even though men like him are called "heroes," he never thought of himself that way and he never glorified war. He did what he felt he had to do and there was too much pain in it all for but the most cursory of replay for us kids or anyone else. I've met other soldiers and airmen like this.
I know there are many fine men in the world and each generation has had their own.
But for me, my Dad was the one in a million.
And I miss him very, very much.
Take care,
Adrian
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